At August's Edge

September knows the part it plays,
With brown leaves, spice and shortening days,
It enters dressed in autumn’s ways,
Its purpose always clear.
No one could doubt what season stays
When longer nights draw near.

And August in its middle blaze,
Means ice cream, seagulls, summer haze;
Heatwaves that stretch through endless days,
Bare legs on show,
With socks and sandals, all the way
that summers go.

But now, near August's final date,
We're in a place where seasons wait;
Too late for summer, autumn waits,
With darkness drawing near.
The light has changed, but can't yet state
What season holds us here.

One chapter ends, and so we brace;
We linger in this empty space,
Half off the paper, kept in place.
Poised on the page’s edge,
'Til September comes and shows its face,
And draws us from the ledge.